just say when
by Life That Is Not Yet Full
Summary: George doesn't know how to feel. Post-Philip's death.


The sound of the gunshot still echoes in his ears. He sees Philip crumple, eyes wide in pain, to lie bleeding on the ground, a pool of crimson seeping through his clothes. The wound is fatal, George can tell just by looking, and his speculation is confirmed when the doctor gently lifts Philip to take him back across the Hudson River.

When he sets foot onto the paved cobblestones of New York City, he hears a distant scream of grief. Elizabeth. He needs to comfort her, he supposes, because he was the cause of her son's death.

Death.

Guilt seizes him, overwhelming his senses, and giving him a strong urge to vomit. But George manages to hold himself together as he makes his way to the Hamilton household.

Alexander is grieving. Terribly. George has never seen a man more distraught, and it scares him.

He caused this.

Elizabeth is sobbing, her black dress sodden with her tears, and when George tries to apologize, she ignores him. He can't blame her.

George leaves the Hamilton house, just as it's starting to rain. The cold water slithers down the back of his shirt, touching him with frigid tendrils. He can't bring himself to care because he just killed a child, a nineteen year old, who had his whole future ahead of him. He disgusts himself with his own actions, but he is too grief-stricken to do anything about it.

He's drenched by the time he reaches his own home. Something that he doesn't deserve. Everything inside is orderly, as if George didn't just commit a heinous crime. It's as if everything is normal, but George feels that twang inside him that tells him that it's not. And so the room needs to match his feelings.

He knocks a chair over, sweeping it to the floor with a loud clatter. George doesn't react to the noise and instead overturns the table as well. The ornaments decorating the center of it fall off and smash against the floor. Again, George doesn't care. He's reaching for the picture frames adorning the mantle when a voice stops him.

"I don't think you want to do that."

George turns, and for a moment, thinks he's hallucinating. Philip Hamilton is standing in the room behind him, looking exactly as he did during the duel, except there is a large bloodstain near his hip. George looks away from the boy because he doesn't need another reminder of what he had done.

"Go away," he says and once again, starts to reach for the frame nearest to him

Philip steps closer, blocking George from reaching them. "Don't do that, Eacker. What's going on?"

George looks at him fully for the first time. He can feel the tears building behind his eyes. "I fucking killed you," he chokes out. "I've never killed anyone. Ever. If you expect me to brush that off like it's not a big deal—"

"—I'm not—"

"—then you're the one who's going insane, not me."

Philip stares at him, and George looks away again, because Philip's eyes are too empty for him to be alive. "You're not insane, Eacker. I'm real."

George finds this extremely funny. "Yeah, right," he laughs, "and I didn't just kill you."

Philip flinches and George immediately regrets his words. But the ghostly nineteen-year-old recovers and explains, "I'm not alive. I'm still dead. But I guess something went wrong with the whole process so now you can see me."

George's hysterical laughter dies in his throat. "Why?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "I-I don't understand."

Philip shrugs. "Like a ghost, I guess. I don't know what's going on either."

It's George's turn to stare at Philip and the younger man coughs awkwardly. "I mean, if you believe in ghosts, you don't have to—"

"I'm fine with that," George answers, his mind spinning with recent events. "Can anyone else see you?"

Philip smiles, and George is struck by how young he is. "Let's find out."

As it turns out, Alexander and Eliza cannot see the apparition of their son. George is forced to watch through the window as Philip tries and fails multiple times to gain their focus, but the most he can do is cause the candle flame to waver.

Philip turns back to him, looking like he's about to cry. The rain droplets falling through him look like tears. "They can't see me," he says, voice strained. "T-they can't—"

George has never been good with handling other people's emotions, but he tries. He really does. "Do you want to try with your siblings?"

"No," Philip sniffles. "I think I'm done."

George doesn't know what to say to that and so the two sit in awkward silence before he tries to ask another question.

"How's it like, being dead?"

Philip stops crying in order to speak. "Well, it kinda hurt a bit but then everything went hazy. And the next thing I know, I'm outside."

"And you came to me first?" George wonders why Philip decided to go to him instead of his parents. "Not your family?"

"I thought you'd be the one who wouldn't freak out. And I was right!" Philip replies, grinning brightly, tears forgotten.

George realizes that the dead teen can really act like a five-year-old child sometimes.

"So you'll be like this until I die as well?"

Philip nods, looking sheepish. "I think so. I'm not sure. This is all new to me; I've never been dead before. It's kinda boring, though. I don't really recommend it."

George snorts, despite himself. "Of course you don't."

Philip just smiles. "You wanna go downtown?" he asks, standing up?"

George stands as well. "Sure."

Philip studies him for a moment before saying, "You better not talk to me in public because people will think you're crazy."

George laughs, his guilt from only a few minutes before evaporating slightly. "Let's let them think whatever they want. I don't care."

Philip gives him a strange look but agrees.

The rain is just starting to lessen as they make their way down the street.

Maybe everything will be okay, George thinks.

The rain has completely stopped by the time George and Philip reach downtown.

As the heart of the city, the streets are crowded with people. George doesn't feel like bumping into those he's less than fond of but Philip's eagerness overtakes him and he finds himself swept along with the crowd.

"You ever been to downtown before?" George has to shout to be heard.

"No," Philip replies, his eyes, although still deadened, look a bit brighter. "This is my first time."

George can tell by the way Philip turns his head at the sight of a mere bird that the younger man is thoroughly engrossed in the experience. He feels a stab of guilt knowing that Philip would never be able to go to downtown alive.

The crowd jostles him and a second wave of people sweep him up and carry him away, separating him from Philip.

"Philip!" George tries, but he gets no response. He's pretty sure that Philip, being the 'ghost' that he is, should be able to float through the people to find him. But the familiar curly haired head never emerges from the crowd. Another disturbingly familiar voice calls for him instead.

"Eacker?" George turns to see Philip's best friend, Richard Price, staring at him. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Could ask the same to you," George retorts, but he's jittery, eyes darting everywhere for a sign of Philip so they can leave the goddamned place.

Price blinks. "But you never go downtown unless you're making a speech." his eyes narrow. "Are you going to give a speech, because I swear, after what you did to Philip, I'm gonna punch your teeth out."

George takes an involuntary step back, but finds his path blocked by the multitude of people jostling around. He's trapped.

Price takes a step forward. "Are you going to give a speech?"

George opens his mouth, but for some reason, nothing comes out.

And then Philip is there. He can't do anything, George can tell by the way he looks slightly frantic, but he does send a wave of cold air over his best friend. Price shivers in the sudden cold, and with a frightened glance towards George, he's gone.

"Thanks," George reluctantly tells Philip. The boy just grins in response, and doesn't leave George's side until they are clear of downtown. George can't say he isn't grateful for the help Philp provided him, but he isn't going to admit anything. His reputation is busted, but he can still hold some dignity.

Then another thought strikes him. "Have you ever seen fireworks before?"

Philip shakes his head. "I've heard them at night sometimes, but I haven't seen them yet, at least for what I can remember."

George nods, thinking. "So, would you object next year to see the fireworks?"

Philip smirks at him. "Is that a date?"

George laughs. "I guess it is."

They do end up seeing fireworks a year later, and even the year after that.

Philip follows George everywhere, to his job in the fire department, and sometimes disappears during the night only to return the next morning. George doesn't question where he goes off to, but he is curious.

"Can you see any others?" George asks the second time the Fourth of July rolls around once more.

Philip gives him a sideways glance, before replying, "Yeah, I do. This man who claims to be my dad's friend. I think they liked each other or something, by the way he talks about my dad." Philip smirks and adds, "the same way I do with you."

George chokes on his drink. "What?"

Philip shrugs, gazing up at the fireworks exploding into the night sky. George can see the colored lights reflecting onto the younger man's face. "This society doesn't take relationships well, do they, if it's between two people of the same gender?"

"I guess not," George answers, lost in thought. He supposes that is only because people have an image in their head that only boys should be with girls but he isn't one to try to talk the entirety of the world out of this one.

Philip turns to him, looking serious. "Do you think it's okay?"

"Love is love," George responds, still staring up at the bursting lights scattering pinpricks of color into the stars. "It doesn't matter who it is."

Philip doesn't say anything after that, choosing to lean against George's shoulder as the last round of fireworks light up the sky. His presence is ice cold, but for once, George doesn't mind.

He gets the diagnosis half a year later. He has tuberculosis, the doctor informs him, "If we knew about it sooner, we could treat you properly. I'm not too sure if they will work now."

George isn't sure what to think about this. This disease is annoying, leaving him bedridden for what is now a few weeks. His bedsheets are dotted with blood, and his throat hurts immensely from coughing. He has a high fever, and lost too much weight, which is what the reports read.

Philip stays by his bedside, no more than a rush of cool air, but George finds his presence comforting.

Sometimes the pain is unbearable, leaving him to wake up in the middle of the night, sweating but freezing cold. He can't think from fatigue, and that's when he knows he's not going to make it.

Philip tries to cheer him up, but George is too weak to be bothered. And his own prediction is confirmed when the doctor comes in to tell him he has three days at most to live.

George isn't afraid, but Philip is. The boy cries at night, sometimes during the day, but all George can say to console him is, "I'll be with you soon."

That just makes Philip cry harder.

It's January 4th, a snowy day, and George can't breathe. His vision fades in and out, and before he knows it, he standing besides Philip, watching his own funeral. Philip gives him a small smile, and another man comes into view in front of him. George can only recognize him as John Laurens, a soldier from the Revolutionary War.

Laurens gives him a nod in recognition before vanishing.

"Don't worry about him," Philip says. "He's nice, he just has to get used to you first. He doesn't like how you killed me."

"I don't like it either," George replies. Philip takes his hand and squeezes it.

"I know."

George's afterlife gets crowded quickly, with the deaths of Alexander Hamilton, Angelica Schuyler, and after a very long time, Elizabeth Schuyler. Many of Philip's family and friends don't trust him, but Philip does.

And as long as he has Philip's trust, George doesn't care where he's going to end up next.


End file.
